


I Have the Honor To Be

by rhoswenmahariel (salutationtothestars)



Series: Ring Like Silver, Ring Like Gold [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:44:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salutationtothestars/pseuds/rhoswenmahariel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loghain lifted Maric's letter to look at it again. He’d crinkled it in his grasp, parchment slightly damp from the messenger’s walk to his tent. A small wax stamp bearing the king’s mark sat untouched – unsurprising, as it was worth more than anyone’s jobs to steal glances at royal missives. Still, he checked for signs of tampering before he settled onto the raised pallet he was using as a bed and broke the letter open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have the Honor To Be

When Loghain received Maric’s letter, it was dark out, raining as if the sky might come crashing down around their ears. The messenger delivering it looked none too pleased with the weather. Her cap was sealed to her bedraggled hair, and her cheeks flushed with the biting cold. Loghain let himself be moved by pity, for a moment, and passed her a silver coin as thanks. “Get to the tavern,” he said, “and warm yourself.”

“Sir,” she said, blinking back surprise. A little smile came to his face easily, as though he meant it – perhaps he did. Slowly, afraid he might change his mind, the messenger slipped the coin in her pocket and gave him a tentative smile in return. Once she’d disappeared, Loghain turned back to his maps and sighed. He was becoming a soft touch. If he went on like this, it would be difficult to find anyone left to respect him or his commands.

For as long as he could, he avoided thinking about the letter in his left hand, attempting to carry on with his work. It stayed in his grasp, even as he used his right to scribble something or move markers along the field. He couldn’t think to put it down. If he did, it would be forgotten, lost in the shuffle of his papers all over the tent, and not seen for days. Maric deserved better than that. Besides, there was the chance it might contain something important to their cause, although Loghain doubted it. Even with as much trouble as they were having, in the end, their enemies were little more than bandits. Well-organized, to be sure, and good at what they did, but bandits. Loghain was only on the field himself to hopefully ensure a swift victory for Ferelden, not to mention placate the banns begging for their king’s protection.

Finally, after what had to be a fair length of time, Loghain lifted the letter to look at it again. He’d crinkled it in his grasp, parchment slightly damp from the messenger’s walk to his tent. She’d taken it out of the container tube their ravens used, as she was supposed to, but the roll remained sealed. A small wax stamp bearing the king’s mark sat untouched – unsurprising, as it was worth more than anyone’s jobs to steal glances at royal missives. Still, he checked for signs of tampering before he settled onto the raised pallet he was using as a bed and broke the letter open.

Something settled in him at the sight of Maric’s handwriting, warm and heavy as if it had curled up in his chest and gone to sleep. Loghain frowned at the sensation, and then frowned again when he took notice of the way Maric wrote in bold, simple strokes – building letters that were easier to read. From anyone else he might find it patronizing, a reminder of his common origins, but Maric had helped teach him how to read in the first place. He meant it only as a courtesy, or even as a force of habit, although they had little occasion to write each other over the last few years. There was no reason to, when the man you wanted was right down the hall.

That heavy feeling intensified, so strong he nearly put a hand up to press against his heart. Clearing his throat, he focused his attention on the letter and kept his free hand at his side.

 _My dear fellow_ , the letter read, _I know how you worry, even if you say you don’t, so let me assure you I write to inform you of no disasters. Cailan and Anora are well, although your daughter misses you. No one has tried to murder me in a great long while, which I must say never stops being refreshing. My council even manages to muddle on without you. They are, perhaps, slightly more eager to push their opinions on me without my “shadow” to dissuade them, but I will make do until you come home._

_I pick up my pen solely because, in a moment of admittedly despondent reflection, I realized something tremendous and needed to tell you immediately. You’ll think me foolish for it, I know, but then I am foolish, and have grown quite accustomed to hearing it._

_It has been nearly twenty years since you and I met._

Loghain set the letter down for a moment and rubbed his chin with a hand. He remembered their meeting well,  just as he remembered the dirty, blue-eyed boy who’d stumbled on him in bloodstained clothes, lying poorly about who he was and where he’d come from. Twenty years… that wasn’t right, was it?

Standing, he went to his table and double-checked the date against another missive, this one from a captain just two days prior. 19 Drakonis, 9:16, it said, as he’d known it would – and if Queen Moira had been murdered twenty years prior… well. He trusted Maric knew the date. It almost seemed a world away to him now, his life before the rebellion. Nothing that had happened in the last two decades would have ever been in his wildest dreams. Once upon a time, he’d once thought he’d be a farmer, like his father, if he became anything at all.

The brief reminder of his father’s death stung him only a little. He gave himself a moment to miss him, to remember him fondly, and then the thought was easily set aside. Picking up the letter again, he sat back on the pallet and skimmed to regain his place. Twenty years. It seemed almost unbelievable.

 _The accomplishment_ , Maric continued, _is of the most sincere importance to me, in part, you understand, because we were never sure we would make it this long. Some of us did not. I don’t mention that to be melancholy, especially since I can’t have you worrying about me while you’re supposed to be protecting our lands. What I mean is that we are lucky. I am lucky. I remind myself of that nearly constantly; especially in relation to a date you may also remember from four years prior. Four is an estimable number, my friend, and its significance looms no smaller in my head, but twenty is astonishing. It deserved recognition, and I knew if I let it sit until you returned, I would likely forget and our “anniversary,” as it were, would pass unremarked. It deserved more._

_Your absence is noted often, by many. As ever, I grow tired of people looking at me with pitying stares as if I have lost something crucial, like a piece of me fell off and went missing. I have, in a sense. Still, it is never nice, being pitied. If you were to come home now, you might save me from it and earn yourself yet another commendation, but running a kingdom with a great hole in the middle seems like a terrible idea. After all this is over, we’ll reward ourselves with a visit, to someone, somewhere, away from withering glances and the ever so subtle implication that without you, I am incapable of common sense. I have no intention of telling these detractors how right they are. They have no need to know._

_There is more I could say, but the letter wouldn’t hold it all, and some things are better in person. If you wrote to me, however, I would not complain, so long as it did nothing to prolong your stay._

_You stand for the people just as you stand for Ferelden, and for me. We could never be anything but thankful, and proud._

_If it is raining, as it almost certainly is, take care not to come home with a cold. Wear that cloak I gave you. I know you took it, so you have no excuse._

He finished it with “ _Yours, Maric_ ,” a touch Loghain knew had been completely purposeful. It was all purposeful, carefully worded so that his intent was obvious to anyone in the know and – hopefully – obscure to those who weren’t. It seemed completely clear to Loghain, almost embarrassingly so. How many times had he written the phrase _come home_? How much more plainly could he state his affections? It was a love letter, quite simply, penned in a moment of poor judgment, and a part of Loghain wanted to ball it up and throw it in a fire.

He smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper’s edges with a thumb. Twenty years. Sixteen of them spent losing time.

Loghain set the letter on his pallet and got to his feet, seeking out a spare roll of parchment and the pen he’d left behind, somewhere. tearing off a piece he hoped would be long enough, he wrote in his steadiest hand, neat and precise to compensate for the way he felt his heart bang around against his ribs.

 _Maric_ , he wrote, not bothering with any other pleasantries, _damn these bandits, and damn you, too_.

It was rather sharp, he considered, maybe a bit too easily misunderstood, but if Maric was so intent on expressing himself, then Loghain could do the same.

_I will return the moment I am able. That may take more time now, thanks to your distractions. Thoughts of king and country clouding my mind will be of a great help to our enemies. I am sure they will thank you._

He was lying, of course. Nothing motivated him more than thinking of defending Ferelden, or of the man who sat on her throne during the day and left his clothes on Loghain’s floor at night, but he would never say so. Not in a letter, and certainly not to Maric’s face.

Already, Loghain was running out of room. He dashed a few more lines down, refusing to give himself more than a moment to think about what he wrote. _Give Anora my love_ , he said, _and plan no visits until after I come home. I have had my fill of traveling, for now._

He had only just enough space left for a signature, though it would be cramped. Instead, he carefully penned a single word, putting intent behind every stroke.

 _Yours_ , it said when he finished.

Rolling the parchment, he tucked the thin strip into his belt, mindful of the way it creased. Loghain would deliver the message to the ravens himself, standing by while those in charge of the makeshift army rookery sealed it shut and slipped it into a canister. The chances of anyone reading his letter or understanding its meaning were slim, of course, but he would feel better for seeing it done now rather than trusting someone else. Maric’s letter would need to go into someone’s fire, as well. It was the practical thing to do. Still, he felt a little pang as he took up the letter and tucked it into the opposite side of his belt. Perhaps that could wait a while.

The rain still pattered heavily on the top of his tent. Loghain stood still a moment and listened, considering his chances. If he left the way he was now, he would be soaked in moments. The chances of his getting sick from the damp were slim, of course, and a foolish part of him hated the idea of letting Maric’s mother-henning win him over.

If his luck abandoned him, however, and he fell ill, how would that affect their chances against the bandits?

Loghain sighed. “Damn the man,” he said, sounding insincere even to himself. Cursing his king and his own sentimentality, he retrieved his heavy cloak from its haphazard drape across a rickety chair and slung it around his shoulders before heading outside.

 

* * *

 

“I memorized your letter,” Maric said abruptly, propping his head up on his fist. Loghain eyed him over the rim of his cup, only just beginning to feel warm again after an hour of sitting in front of the fire. They were alone, ensconced in Maric’s office long after most of the palace had gone to bed, but he still caught himself looking around for listening ears.

“Do you mean to impress me?” he asked. Maric smiled down at the papers on his desk, feigning nonchalance rather poorly.

“It was short,” he said, contemplating his pen, “so I suppose it was no real hardship. Still, I did it. To be honest, I hardly expected you to reply at all.”

Loghain studied his friend as he fell quiet again, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the way his beard was beginning to grow a little unruly. He had tied his hair back to keep it out of his way, the blond streaked with a little grey here and there, catching the light of the room and throwing it back. That familiar heaviness sank on him again, warming him through in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. Irritated with himself for it, he shrugged it off and set the cup on the floor.

“It was like writing in code.”

Maric laughed. “I should have known that ‘damn those bandits, and damn me too’ was a secret message.”

“That part,” Loghain said, “I meant.”

Maric was still laughing when he got up, leaving behind his desk to cross the room. He stopped in front of Loghain’s chair, looking down at him in a way loghain might have called besotted if it were meant for anyone else. As it was, he hesitated to call it anything.

“Twenty years,” Maric said, a bit of wondering in his voice. “Nothing has changed.”

Loghain heaved to his feet with a grunt, reluctantly leaving the plush warmth of his chair behind. Where Maric might have once stepped back to give him more space, maintaining some standard of respectability, he only swayed a bit. They stood close, sharing breath, and Maric smiled again.

“Some things have changed,” he amended. Loghain snorted, felt his lip twitch into an answering smile, and did not move as Maric reached out to skirt one hand down his bicep. “Were there other secret messages? Implications I might have missed?”

It took Loghain a moment to realize he was talking about the letter again. He answered Maric’s touch with a mirrored one, gripping his arm carefully. “I hardly remember,” he said. It was the truth. Nearly a month had passed since he wrote it.

 “ _Yours_ , you said,” Maric murmured, leaning forward so that their lips nearly brushed. He tipped his chin up slightly, compensating for the inch or two’s difference in height. “Did you mean that?”

As his answer, Loghain pulled Maric in and pressed their lips together, gratified by the easy way Maric’s mouth slid open and his hands moved to Loghain’s back.

He seemed to understand. Maric nearly always did.

**Author's Note:**

> For any of you looking for the next chapter of my other ongoing M/L work, it's still in progress. Life saw fit to kick me around for a few months, and then it got very busy, so it's been completely impossible to finish. My goal is to have it done by the end of the year.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr at salutationtothestars.


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